I entered the Baron's chamber. There he lay, sure enough, to all appearance dead. I touched him; he was as cold as ice. I was much struck with the singular resemblance of the defunct Baron before me to the portrait of Baron Ralph that hung over the mantelpiece in my chamber. It is true that the Baron before me was a younger man, that he wore a shaven face instead of a moustache and peaked beard, that the livid colour of the corpse was unlike the florid complexion of Baron Ralph; but the features were exact, the shape of the head, the colour of the hair and the way it grew; the same tufted red eyebrows, the right one considerably higher than the left; the same bent flat nose and tightly compressed lips, with cruel lines at the corners; the chin, the jaw, the deep line between the brows, in fact, the whole man seemed the exact counterpart of the old Baron. A horrible recollection passed through my mind. I remembered having seen the criminal before alluded to after his execution. What a startling likeness between the features of the executed criminal and those of the Baron's corpse before me. I shuddered. A portion of the phantom's conversation on the preceding night occurred to me suddenly. What if--could it be that---- I called the landlady. The whole inn was in a state of confusion. The news of the Baron's death had circulated through the whole village by this time. "Perhaps," said I, "the Baron may not be quite dead, he may be in a trance, he may be---- At any rate, don't you think it would be best to send for the doctor, to hear his opinion?" The doctor was accordingly sent for, and arriving shortly, was at once shown into the Baron's room. The landlady and a great part of the household followed. "Why, of course he's dead," replied the leech, brusquely, in answer to their eager questions. "Can't you see that?" "If, nevertheless," said I, timidly, "you would not mind opening a vein----" "I'll open a vein, if you like," he answered, bluntly; "but, I tell you, the man's dead!" Then, taking out his lancet, he opened a vein in the right arm. "You see now, I hope," said the leech, "that it is utterly useless; there is not a drop of blood." "Then," said the landlady, "the Baron really _is_--dead?" "Dead! _Dead as mutton_," replied the doctor. At this juncture the face of the corpse grew violently convulsed, his eyes rolled, the colour returned suddenly to his cheeks, and leaping from the bed with terrific energy, he seized the bolster, with which he belaboured the terrified inmates of "The Swan" right and left, knocking over the little doctor, and sending me into the landlady's lap, and the "boots" flying out of the room with a yell of terror, besides upsetting every utensil of crockery that stood in the way. "Dead, am I!" roared the Baron, "dead, eh! Where's that scurvy apothecary--that spreader of plaisters, that pill-maker, that cow-bleeder--that dared to open one of _my_ veins?" The little doctor had crept under the bed.